A Night at the Theatre
by MKawaii
Summary: Major John Andre has organized a theater group. With a serious-to-a-fault Captain Bordon, a prima donna Ban Tarleton and mischievous group of young dragoons factoring into the mix, will the show ever go on?
1. Chapter 1

Title: **"A Night at the Theatre"**   
  
Written by: Meg (TheEmperor), Sherri, Julie (MKawaii)   
Editing/Notes by: Julie (MKawaii)   
Rating: PG (minor foul language)   
Classification: Adventure/Humor   
  
**Author's Notes:** This is the first of what we hope will be several fics to arise from the New Legion RPG. There's a link to the group's messageboard in my profile. Feel free to check it out and see what other storylines we're working on! The concept of the group is to allow a number of writers to contribute to a running story in a sort of RPG format, where participants focus on the perspective of one or two characters and then add to the story in a way that develops their adopted characters. We are currently using a combination of fictional characters from the Patriot, original fictional characters, and real historical figures. That said, here's how this tale was originally broken down while we were working on it: 

Meg- Tarleton, Edwards

Sherri- Goldstein

Julie- Bordon, Andre, Riley

The story has been edited slightly from it's original board form for the sake of flow. The original format is viewable on the board under the "Cities" section. Please note that the characters of Edwards, Goldstein and Riley are original and created by their perspective authoresses for a bit of fun. Please forgive any inadvertent Mary-Stu'ism.   
  
**Please note also, that this story serves as a sort of Prequel to our other in progress Bordon-fics. If you've ever wondered where some of the little references in those stories ("The Torch Forever Burns" and "Waltzing the Erinyes", both of which are posted here on fanficnet) came from, herein lies your answer!!**   
  
**Plot Summary:** It's December of 1777 and the British army has settled down for Winter-Quarters in the city of Philadelphia. While the rebel army freezes at Valley Forge, Captain Bordon and Major John Andre work at maintaining an extensive intelligence network. But in a cosmopolitan city like Philadelphia, how can anyone resist the urge to have a little fun? Andre organizes a theater group. With a serious-to-a-fault Captain Bordon, a prima donna Ban Tarleton and mischievous group of young dragoons factoring into the mix, will the show ever go on?   
  


* * *

  
  
  
Captain Robert Bordon shivered as a gust of cold wind rushed over him and quickly drew his thick coat tighter around himself. Winter in Philadelphia was quickly proving to be less than pleasant and as the harsh December weather blew in, he'd quickly begun cursing his earlier decision to take residence in a building so far from that which he spent most of his waking hours in.   
  
Bordon's days were spent at the monotonous tasks of filling out paperwork and filing reports in a small office on the second floor of a house on Leeds Street. It'd formerly been the home of a small time merchant and his family, who'd provided supplies to the rebel army and been evicted shortly after the British captured the city. It was a small, out of the way house, which was exactly why it'd been chosen.   
  
Bordon's superior officer and good friend, Major John Andre, was in charge of a small but carefully constructed intelligence network setup throughout the city and neighboring countryside. With both the British and Rebel armies in winter quarters, the intelligence division was one of the few groups still active. The fighting may have stopped for the time being, but information was always flowing.   
  
His path took him past a small pub, just in time to see a pair of drunkenly singing infantry privates stagger out. Bordon frowned and wondered what sort of man got drunk at 8 o'clock in the morning. He was silently grateful that he had somewhere to go. If there was anything he couldn't stand, it was pointless inactivity. Far better to be waking early and trudging four blocks through two feet of snow if it meant getting something meaningful done.   
  
Rounding the corner onto Leeds Bordon's eye caught a fluttering motion to his left and he stopped suddenly. Someone had nailed a handbill to one of the fence-posts lining the street and it was fluttering wildly in the cold wind. The same wind chose that moment to send another icy gust whipping down the street, catching Bordon's scarf and flinging one end of it up into his eyes. He snatched at it irritably and pulled it away from his face before ripping the handbill down and storming the last few yards to the front door of his destination. Quickly unlocking it he opened the heavy wooden door just enough to squeeze through before quickly shutting it behind him before too much of the warm air inside could escape.   
  
The intelligence office was busy night and day with warm fires burning round the clock, a fact that Bordon was extremely grateful for when he came in from the cold every morning. Peeling his coat and scarf off he hung them on a nearby rack to dry, called a quick greeting to the pair of officers just getting ready to head home after working all night and headed quickly up the stairs to his office. He sat down behind his desk, only then noticing the piece of paper still in his hand. Smoothing the wrinkles from when he'd first snatched it off the fence he turned the paper to the gray morning sunlight shining weakly through his office's single window and read.   


_'The Whist-ling Dragon Theatrical Society invites all_

_officers and personnel of His Majesty's army to a magnificent_

_once-only production of "The Lady Takes Charge"_

_to be held the 18th of December_

_at the Black Swan Theater, Philadelphia.'_

  
Beneath the writing was a picture of the comedy-tragedy masks and in very small print, _'Directed by Major John Andre, with the kindest permission of Gen. Howe'_   
  
Bordon froze and read the last line again. Andre?! Wherever did he find the time for such nonsense! Crumpling the handbill into a ball he promptly tossed it into the small waste-bin next to his desk and turned to the mound of documents waiting for his attention. It was going to be a long day...   
  
-------------------   
  
"A woman!" Cornet Tarleton exclaimed. His face had turned a bright scarlet upon hearing Andre's announcement.   
  
"Come now, Ban!" Andre persisted. "This is very unlike you. VERY unlike the man who gave an impromptu eulogy for a still-living relative so that the audience would not be bored during intermission... And that was in England!"   
  
"But at least then I wasn't dressed as a woman!" Tarleton replied quickly.   
  
"You can't always play the dashing hero."   
  
"But I am dashing!" Ban protested.   
  
"You're also the youngest, and you're about the only one among us who could ever pass for a woman without making the play more comical than it already is. Think of it as a challenge... a chance to show off just how well you can act."   
  
Tarleton knew he wasn't going to get out of this. Sometimes being the lowest ranked man in the group had distinct disadvantages. Andre was toying with his weaknesses. He DID like a challenge...   
  
"Show off how well I can act... hmmm...."   
  
"Precisely."   
  
"Very well, being the best actor in this group, I see it as my sacred duty to show all of you how to play the part of a woman correctly!"   
  
The other members of the group rolled their eyes, as one of their favorite phrases came to mind. "That's Ban for you..."   
  
-----------------   
  
Private Anthony Goldstein was having the time of his life. Sure he was freezing his bum off, but he didn't care. He as a member of the dragoons he was doing something important that made his life worthwhile.   
  
His green eyes sparkled merrily as he entered the theatre, hoping to escape the winter wind and warm up for a minute before continuing on his way. The air quickly chilled one to the bone, but his boyish grin still stayed plastered on. Many of his fellow privates thought he lost his mind when they saw him this way, despite the miserable weather, but Anthony didn't care. He was just enjoying the end of his childhood.   
  
"But at least then I wasn't dressed as a woman!"   
  
Anthony froze at the sound of a familiar voice. Did his ears deceive him? Wasn't that Ban Tarleton? The Ban Tarleton that many stories were told about? This was just too much for Anthony, he had to find out.   
  
Giving his better judgement a break, Anthony followed the sounds of the voices. This could be the gossip of the year! If so, Anthony wanted in first.   
  
He followed to the voices to a small room. The door was cracked open a bit, and Anthony peered in. He saw the two figures arguing about something involving acting and women. What the hell?   
  
"Very well, being the best actor in this group, I see it as my sacred duty to show all of you how to play the part of a woman correctly!"   
  
Ban Tarleton, to be sure! That's when Anthony lost it. First it started out as soft giggles. Well, manly giggles. Then he covered his mouth but couldn't hide it. With an audible thump, Anthony fell to the floor laughing. Tears were streaming out of his eyes but he didn't care.   
  
--------------------   
  
It was nearly noon before Bordon heard the tell-tale thump of the frontdoor and cheerfully called greeting to the staff downstairs that signalled Andre'd finally arrived. Bordon's brow furrowed in a deep frown and he turned his eyes to the door as he heard his friends footsteps on the stairs, fixing the Major with a biting glare as his cheerful face appeared in the doorway of Bordon's office.   
  
"Morning, Robert! Anything interesting come in last night?"   
  
"Dont you mean 'afternoon'? You certainly took your time in getting here..." Bordon quickly ruffled through the mound of paperwork and found the one page he was seeking, which he held out to Andre.   
  
"Just this report. Finnegan claims to have overheard some sort of meeting between a couple of merchants down in the waterfront district. Nothing particularly incriminating, but we may want to have someone check it out."   
  
Andre's eyes eagerly skimmed through the handwritten report. "Quite right.. I'll get someone on it. Sorry for slacking off a bit this morning and making you go through all that on your own," Andre pointed to the massive jumble of documents. "I had to take care of something."   
  
Bordon's eyebrow quirked, a ghost of a smile creeping onto his face. "That something wouldnt have to do with a certain handbill I found on my way here this morning, would it?"   
  
Now it was Andre's turn to frown slightly. "Well, you cant expect me to work ALL the time, man! I find the theater to be quite a welcome distraction!"   
  
His wide smile returned, "As a matter of fact, I think you would too! We've got several parts still open! Come now, Bordon, what do you sa..."   
  
"I think you know damn well what I'd say, so don't even try to get me into this!" Bordon's face flickered with a mixture of panic and horror that immediately set Andre into a raving fit of laughter.   
  
"With dramatic reactions like that, one can easily see you were born to be on the stage! But really Robert, you have to get out and have some fun now and then! Day after day you trudge in here with the determined look of a martyr and bury yourself in this dismal office for a solid twelve hours, and then return straight to your quarters across town to rest up for another day of the same!"   
  
Bordon set the stack of papers he'd been going through down roughly on the top of his desk. "Well, my apologies John, but I don't have the same relish for publicly making a fool of myself that you seem to revel in!"   
  
Andre's face twisted into an angry grimace and Bordon instantly knew he'd gone too far.   
  
"Alright then, Captain! Do whatever you damn well please.. and excuse me for interrupting! I'll be in my office getting a little work done and plotting additional ways of 'making a fool of myself' in the near future. Good day!" 

Bordon raised his hand quickly and made to apologize to his long-time friend, but it was too late. Andre stormed out of the office and slammed the door..   
  
------------------   
  
Coming from a very poor family, Pvt. Henry Edwards had a high tolerance for alcohol and his hangovers lasted a good ten minutes at the longest. He splashed some cold water on his unshaven face and felt very much refreshed. He had to make himself presentable. Making a good impression was always foremost in his mind.   
  
He took a good look in the dirty mirror hanging over the washbasin. His black hair, which had always grown in ridiculously tight curls that liked to stand on end, looked even more comical than usual. Henry ran a hand through it, but it didn't make for much improvement.   
  
He grabbed an almost empty bottle of cheap wine from the table beside his bed and took a swig to dull the last of his headache. The clock showed that it was nearly four in the afternoon. Henry cursed himself silently. He'd slept almost the entire day.   
  
His best friend, an introverted younger private by the name of James Riley, was still asleep, stretched languidly across his bed. Riley didn't have any tolerance for alcohol. The two of them had known each other for years, growing up together in London before Riley's family moved to Birmingham. Henry was the only one who hadn't poked fun at James' childhood stuttering problem, and James was the only one who didn't mind that Henry was indecently poor. The two had been reunited quite by accent when they bumped into one another at a local pub shortly after the British occupied the city, and had been inseparable since.   
  
Henry put on his red and green jacket, straightened the cuffs and collar, and took another look in the mirror. He loved his uniform. It made him feel grown up, important. Besides, these red and green ones looked better than the green and black ones worn by Riley and the rest of the dragoons in the other legion.   
  
Satisfied with his appearance, Henry walked over to the bed of his sleeping friend.   
  
"Riley!"   
  
James didn't stir. Henry kicked the bed, it moved about two inches.   
  
"Wake up!"   
  
Riley mumbled something in his sleep.   
  
"Come on, James. You'll never believe what Goldstein just told me..."   
  
James groaned and pulled the bed covers tightly over his head. "Oh Christ, Henry.. cant it wait a good twelve hours? My head feels like the inside of a beehive..." His voice came as a pathetic whimper muffled by the thick blankets.   
  
Edwards was not to be dissuaded however, and another swift kick to the side of the bed nearly sent Riley sprawling onto the floor. Rubbing his throbbing temple in an effort to soften the raging headache that accompanied his hangover, Riley struggled into a sitting position and stared grumpily at his old friend.   
  
"Alright, alright! Out with it, then! What DID Goldstein tell you that's so important? If you tell me that he's tipped you off on another pub that has 'the cheapest drinks in town', I swear I'll ring your neck..."   
  
"Come now, James! Buck up!"   
  
Henry's statement did not have its intended effect.   
  
"Besides, this is far betta than finding a cheaper pub, and few things are betta than that! Goldstein was wanderin' about this morning, ya know 'ow Goldstein does, when 'e over'eard the most intriguing convasation."   
  
He paused, giving Riley a chance to respond, but his friend didn't appear to be feeling any better. Henry reached into a pocket of his jacket and produced a neatly folded piece of paper. He handed it to Riley. The younger man forced his eyes to focus long enough to unfold it and realize that it was a handbill.   
  
"It seems that Major Andre and 'is little group of... associates are gonna to perform some koind of play."   
  
Riley gave his friend a look that said, "A play? Is that all? Since when were you interested in the theatre?"   
  
"Oi, an' you'll neva believe who 'appens to be playing a girl," Henry continued, struggling not to interupt his explanation with a bout of laughter. "Why, none other than your legion's most beloved memba... Banastre Tarleton!"   
  
Henry snatched the handbill away from his friend, refolded it, and replaced it in his pocket.   
  
"Now, Goldstein's discovered that there's gonna be a re'earsal tonoight at the Black Swan Theatre. We're all gonna foind out if it's true, if Tarleton's really playin' a girl. Goldstein's arranged some proime backstage seatin'. I thought it would unfriendly of me if I didn't invite ya to come along. If you're going, get dressed, it starts in an 'our."   
  
  
  
  
James Riley was out of bed, dressed and in the theatre before he knew what hit him. The entire past hour was somewhat of a blur, but somehow he now stood beside Edwards just inside the backstage door of the Black Swan.   
  
A number of men in various kinds and degrees of uniform were bustling about busily, carrying the few small bits of scenery and props absolutely necessary for the rehearsal which, judging by the level of activity, was due to begin any moment.   
  
Riley stared about blankly for a few moments, before his gaze came to rest on the brightly grinning face of Goldstein.   
  
Anthony bonded into the room, a grin plastered to his face.   
  
"Hello boys!" Goldstein smiled. "I hope you guys are ready for a treat tonight. If I'm wrong, drinks are on me!"   
  
Goldstein overlooked his comrades 'financial troubles.' He never minded paying for their drinks at the tavern. In his sick twisted way, he actually liked paying for them. His family had more money than they knew what to do with.   
  
The three privates had first met quite by accident in one of the city's many small pubs, and while Edwards was a longtime friend, Goldstein was a new acquaintance. Goldstein was quite a bit older, and born in the Colonies as well, making him an object of interest for the two young Britons.   
  
He was extremely friendly and seemed to possess a perpetually cheerful attitude. Riley found the later trait, manifested by cheeky grins like the one plastered across Goldstein's features now, to be somewhat creepy given James' own reserved nature, but he chalked it up to their obvious differences in upbringing. As a child James'd had little to smile about while, from what Anthony'd told of his own family, Goldstein'd never had to worry about much of anything.   
  
One thing the three young men shared though, without a doubt, was their craving for adventure. It was the reason they'd come together and stood now, side by side, each in the uniform of a British dragoon.   
  
Someone dimmed the house lamps slightly and Riley startled, taking a step closer to his two comrades before addressing them, "Well, whatever we're here for, we'd best find an out of the way place to sit.. Someone's going to trip over us if we just stand around here and besides.. having all these officers about is making me nervous! I'm not so sure we're allowed in here..."   
  
---------------------   
  
Major Andre carefully supervised the placement of the props and the scenery. Everything had to be perfect. His small troupe of actors, in costume, had their attentions centered on Tarleton who was demonstrating, for the benefit of all, the correct way to portray a woman. There were some whisperings among the other officers that if anyone knew how to play the part of a woman, it was Ban. He'd certainly had an almost indecent amount of experience with them.   
  
Tarleton had enough natural grace that he was able to manage the full skirts of the last-season dress that Andre had managed to talk the wife of a loyalist into loaning them for the production. His red hair formed a sharp contrast with the traditional colonial lady's mob cab. This one was trimmed with pink ribbon to match the dress, which was pink with a slightly floral pattern.   
  
"Might I have this dance, Lady Tarleton?" Oliver Delancey, the set painter, asked, tipping his cap.   
  
"How utterly rude!" 'Lady' Tarleton exclaimed, giving Delancey a slap to the side of the face with one of 'her' lace gloves. "You, a common set painter, would ask a fine lady such as myself to dance!"   
  
"I wouldn't be so hasty, m'lady," the set painter laughed. "With your looks, I'll probably be the only dance offer you get tonight."   
  
'Lady' Tarleton turned away. "Kindly remove yourself from my presence, sir! I won't have you getting paint on my lovely new gown!"   
  
Andre rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated chuckle as he watched the backstage antics of his cast. Better that they get all the foolishness out of their systems now than wait and burst into fits of giggles later when he was trying to direct them through a clean rehearsal.   
  
"Alright you lot, quit harassing Miss Tarleton and get yourselves on stage! This play opens in a week and General Howe's going to be here, so I want everything to go smoothly. The sooner we get this rehearsal over with, the sooner you can all run off to the pub or get on with whatever other..." Andre eyed Ban, who was absentmindedly swishing his skirts around, "activities.. you have planned for the night."   
  
With a minimal amount of grumbling, the actors filed out through the curtain and the stage crew finished getting things ready. Watching after them, Andre sighed quietly. He'd not spoken to Bordon since their argument that afternoon. Both men were possessed of an extremely stubborn nature, a trait that was beneficial when it came to sniffing out small details for their intelligence work, but proved to be a frequent stumbling block as far as their friendship was concerned.   
  
Andre snorted and pushed the thought from his mind. Let Bordon stew a while.. he deserved it! Grabbing his copy of the play's script from a nearby bench, Andre strode off quickly in the wake of his cast and took his position at the foot of the stage, ready to begin directing the rehearsal.   
  
---------------------   
  
Henry, Goldstein, and Riley had secreted themselves away in the props room. It wasn't the most comfortable spot in the world for viewing a performance, being at most a few feet wide. Still, there was a rather large crack between two boards that made for the perfect peep-hole. Henry and Goldstein claimed the two prime viewing spots. Riley was left with a more limited view of the stage, but it was quite enough for a full view of Ban Tarleton strutting about in a proper colonial lady's gown.   
  
"You were bloody roight!" Henry exclaimed in a whisper to Goldstein. "This is the damned funniest thing I've eva seen!"   
  
Goldstein gave Henry a shove, indicating that his turn at the widest part of the peep-hole was up. Henry didn't move. Goldstein shoved harder.   
  
"In a bloody minute!" Henry snapped. Taking in one last final look to impress into his memory, Henry stepped away... but this didn't go without incident. He tripped over the crouching figure of Riley, who he'd quite forgotten about. Unable to regain his balance in a small room that wasn't nearly big enough for three men, Henry went thundering into a shelf filled with a varied assortment of props. The crash was deafening. All the sea battles ever fought since the invention of cannon seemed positively muted in comparison.   
  
"Bloody 'ell!" Henry cursed.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

Standing on the floor of the theatre, Major Andre flipped the page on his script and watched the actors for mistakes as the rehearsal progressed. Things had gone surprisingly well so far for a first run-through, with the exception of Tarleton who, while remembering almost all of his lines, was experiencing extreme difficulty in managing his billowing skirts on the rather cramped set.   
  
So far Ban had managed to knock over two chairs, a small table and a flower arrangement, causing numerous curses to be shouted by Mister Delancey at the state of his precious set. He'd also tripped on the hem of his skirt at one point and grabbed onto the elaborately painted backdrop to break his fall, causing it to promptly rip free of its ties and land in a heap on top of the hapless young Cornet.   
  
Since that mishap they'd managed to get through two whole pages of script without incident, making Andre unsure of whether he should be happy for the progress or worried at what might happen next to ruin it.   
  
A moment of quiet drew his attention from the page and back to the faces of the men grouped on stage, who all looked slightly confused.   
  
Andre sighed, "That was your cue, Captain Prin-..." A sudden crashing noise drew the Major's eyes back to Tarleton, who was standing quietly, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at his costar while waiting for the other man to speak his next line.   
  
"Christ, Tarleton, what've you broken now?!"   
  
Tarleton stuck out his lower lip in his best impression of a feminine pout, "Why, I'm sure I don't know what you mean.."   
  
Andre examined the set and, seeing no obvious damage, adopted a puzzled expression. "If not you, then who.."   
  
He frowned suddenly, "Must have been backstage.. That odd friend of yours didn't follow you here, did he, Tarleton?! I swear, if that's him and his beasts wreaking havoc back there, I'll have both your heads on a platter! Come to think of it, that'd make a fine prop for the banquet scene.."   
  
Tarleton's eyes widened. "Hanger couldn't be here, he.."   
  
"Well, if you're so sure it ISNT him, please go and check what it IS exactly!" Andre smirked challengingly.   
  
"You would send a poor, defenseless young lady to investigate a mysterious crash backstage?" Lady Tarleton exclaimed, horrified. "Why that's not very gentlemanly of you!"   
  
This remark produced such a look of fury on the part of Andre that Tarleton decided it was pointless to protest further.   
  
"Yes, sir," he said, dropping his mock-female voice.   
  
Though now thoroughly annoyed with the dress that had caused him to make an utter fool of himself more than once already that evening, Ban exercised sheer force of willpower to prevent himself from ripping the garment in half. He had promised to show the others the proper way act a female role, and he was determined to do so.   
  
Making his way backstage, as quickly as the full skirts would allow, Tarleton halfway expected to be greeted by Hanger, with his insane grin and his blue Hessian uniform. His friend knew he was playing the role of a woman. That was precisely the sort of thing Hanger wouldn't want to miss seeing for himself. Leave it to Hanger to make a mess of things. Perhaps he halfway deserved to have his head lopped off and served on a platter. Then again, knowing Hanger, he would probably volunteer. Death would be the biggest adventure of them all. He often claimed to know that heaven was populated with beautiful barely dressed women, and that if he died first he would sneak out and tell Ban all about it. Still, Hanger shouldn't be here. He had been rather occupied lately, ever since he met a woman of poor reputation.   
  
Tarleton and Hanger were what one might call kindred spirits. This was quite a rarity. Hanger was universally known to be suffering from a very severe form of eccentricity, and for the veritable zoo of bizarre creatures (monkeys, parrots, dogs, cats, etc.) that he kept in his rooms. Aside from this, Ban and Hanger shared a mutual love for wine, women, song, and living in general that enabled them to get along famously.   
  
Hanger wasn't backstage. In fact, there was no one. Tarleton looked around for signs of anything out of the ordinary. He remembered the rebel army, camped not so far away at Valley Forge. The possibility of a spy was a very real one.   
  
"Filthy dress," the young dragoon hissed. The nature of womens' clothing had prevented him from carrying a gun.   
  
"Dammit Riley!" The harsh whisper came from the prop room. The voice had a distinct cockney accent. Whoever they were, they probably weren't rebels.   
  
The young cornet flung open the door to the prop room to discover three privates (one in green and two in red) tangled in a massive heap along with fragments of several shelves and a healthy collection of now-broken props.   
  
Riley, his vision still blurred and his mind still slowed from the alcohol, looked up at the very angry woman. The light flooding into the formerly dim prop room stung his eyes, obscuring his vision even further.   
  
"Sorry, madame.. we were just.. uh.."   
  
It was indeed an awkward situation. In some capacity he was thankful not to be confronting armed rebels, but he couldn't decided what was worse. Being unarmed and surrounded, or being dressed as a woman in the presence of those of lower rank? He was never going to hear the end of it. Why couldn't it have been Hanger? At least Hanger would have come to witness this spectacle for himself and, as such, would have kept it to himself. This was going to be all over the city by morning.   
  
"Andre, I think you had better come back here!"   
  
  
  
At Tarleton's call, Andre frowned and set his script down on the foot of the stage before bounding up the stage-side steps and slipping through the curtain._ Christ, can't that boy do anything on his own? Must not be that friend of his..._   
  
Rounding the corner he met with the scene of a very angry Ban standing over a heap of extremely panicked young dragoons, all of whom were apparently trying to speak at once in explaining the reason for their presence in the now thoroughly trashed props-closet.   
  
"Good God! Who are you three and what the hell have you done to my props for the garden scene?!"   
  
The three privates immediately stopped talking and turned their heads to stare wide-eyed at Andre, as he stormed forward to hover over them malevolently.   
  
If they thought their silence would do anything to dissuade him now that he was in interrogation mode, they were sorely mistaken. Andre stooped over and grabbed Riley by the collar, pulling him free of the tangle with Goldstein and Edwards and hoisting the terrified young man to his feet, their faces mere inches apart.   
  
"Alright then. Are you spies? Nice uniforms.. what poor souls did you kill to get them?"   
  
Riley paled and screwed his eyes shut under Andre's burning gaze. "We aren't spies, sir! We didn't kill anyone! We just wanted to see the performance.."   
  
_He certainly sounds British..._ Andre thought, his expression softening slightly. _Still.. it could be an act.._   
  
"So you say.. I suppose we'll find out, wont we?" Andre pushed Riley to the side and turned his attention to the other two. "Alright, get up! Show's over and we're going for a little walk, gentlemen."   
  
Edwards and Goldstein complied, and Andre reached past them to grab a few colored scarves from the mess of props on the floor. He handed two to Ban before closing the closet door, hoping Delancey wouldn't find the mess and go ballistic.   
  
"Help me get our guests here blindfolded, Tarleton. I think one of my colleagues would be most interested in speaking with them..."   
  
Andre smirked as the young dragoons' eyes widened in abject horror. He didn't really doubt they were telling the truth, but he wasn't about to simply let them walk out after so thoroughly interrupting his rehearsal. Besides, he knew that handing them over to Bordon would be the perfect double edged sword..   
  
--------------------------   
  
"Wonderful," Banastre Tarleton thought to himself as he trudged through the snow leading the three blindfolded privates. "Naturally Andre can't do this himself. No, he's the director. He has to stay in the nice war theatre and realize his artistic vision..."   
  
Still, there was a bit of a benefit to taking the three 'spies' to see Captain Bordon, Andre had been forced to disclose the location of the intelligence office. This was information that could come in handy later.   
  
As involuntarily being forced to walk through the snow often does, this particular excursion into the night brought back some of Ban's former grievances with Andre. First, there was the little matter of being cast in the female role. Secondly, there was that incident with Lady Greenwell that he preferred not to remember. Thirdly, there was this. Walking through the night, in the snow. Andre knew these three weren't spies. This had to be another one of his little jokes.   
  
There was that tone in Andre's voice back at the theatre. Andre was clever, suave, handsome, talented... "THAT'S IT!" Ban had enough. In fact, he was so wrapped up in his own annoyance that he failed to realize he'd actually yelled that out loud, and that he'd passed up the street where the intelligence office was located.   
  
"What's it?" mumbled Edwards, who was gagged and blindfolded.   
  
"Miss!"   
  
Ban looked up. Standing in front of him were what looked very much like two rebel soldiers in their blue coats with red trim. Though their uniforms were in a decidedly ragged state and had been sewn in numerous places they were easily identifiable as colonials.   
  
Tarleton instinctively reached for his gun, only to realize (much to his own personal horror) that he had neglected to remove his costume. He was walking about the streets of Philadelphia in a dress! Had he become that used to it? Or was his anger at Andre that blinding.   
  
"Miss, why do you have three British soldiers tied up?" one of the colonials asked.   
  
Ban did not have time to think of an excuse. The colonial's companion nudged him.   
  
"What?"   
  
He whispered something in his ear.   
  
The first colonial's eyes grew to the size of saucers. They both stood up straight and saluted smartly.   
  
"Col. Hamilton!"   
  
"Sir," one of the rebels exclaimed. "I see you have captured three red coats! Did you discover the location of the intelligence office?"   
  
_Hamilton..?_ Riley squirmed slightly, testing the strength of the tie binding his hands firmly behind his back as he tried to locate the sound of the voices. Blindfolded as he was he couldn't see the men as they approached, but by the tell-tale lilt in their accents he could easily identify them as locals.   
  
But who was Colonel Hamilton? If they knew an officer, it stood to reason they were affiliated with the army in some way.. but how?   
  
Ban's silence was slightly unnerving. Since joining the dragoons, Riley had been in the same unit as Tarleton, and though they weren't well acquainted, Riley knew him well enough to know that he was usually anything but quiet. Something had to be wrong. Bound as he and his comrades were, the last thing they needed was to be accosted by locals!   
  
Riley heard Edwards stir slightly at his side, and knew he must be thinking the same. Whatever was coming, they were completely in Tarleton's hands. Riley's teeth clenched._ I hope Tarleton can handle this.._   
  
Unarmed an wearing a dress, accompanied by three seemingly captured Red Coats, very few options presented themselves to Cornet Tarleton. Still, the colonials themselves had presented him with a singular opportunity. He knew enough about the rebel army to remember the name Hamilton.   
  
"Yes, what are you two doing marching about an occupied city dressed like that!"   
  
Ban prayed that his accent wouldn't give him away. After all, he had no idea what this Col. Hamilton should sound like. The two colonials looked like privates. He doubted they knew Hamilton well at all, most likely they were going solely on looks.   
  
The two colonials exchanged a look of embarrassment.   
  
"We had no trouble getting in to the city, sir. Everyone's either drunk... or asleep... or at parties."   
  
"Parties!" the other rebel exclaimed. "Imagine, parties! While we starve and suffer in the cold."   
  
Ban though for a moment. "What are you doing here?"   
  
"We came to meet our contact, sir," one of them explained. "We have information. We never imagined it would be you."   
  
Tarleton put his quick-thinking, imaginative brain to work. There had to be some way to turn this situation to his advantage.   
  
"I'm not your contact," he explained. "He was found out. I've arranged for you to meet another man... tomorrow, at the Black Swan theatre, midnight. He will be waiting for you backstage, wearing a green scarf."   
  
The two colonials nodded.   
  
"Now, get out of here before someone sees you! I'll deal with these three."   
  
"Yes, sir!" They saluted and disappeared into the snow-filled night.   
  
A big grin spread across Ban's face. This was perfect. He had proved himself the more clever man, and the one with the better acting skills. He would deliver two clueless rebel intelligence agents right into the hands of the British army!   
  
  
----------------------------   
  
Andre had just finished dismissing his actors for the night when he heard the back door of the theater open with a loud bang. Tarleton dashed in excitedly, the three privates still in tow.   
  
"What are you doing bringing those three back here? And why in heavens do you look so perfectly pleased with yourself? Out with it, Tarleton!" He raised an eyebrow curiously at Ban, who was panting as he turned to shut the door against the winter wind that came whipping into the warm room.   
  
"You'll never believe the luck of it, Major!" Ban beamed. "I was taking this lot to the office like you asked, but we stumbled across a pair of Rebels on the way!"   
  
Andre frowned in disbelief, "Rebels? How can you be so sure?"   
  
"They were walking about town in their blue uniforms, plain as day!" Tarleton smirked. "But that's not the half of it, sir.. They mistook me for a 'Colonel Hamilton', who is aparently part of the Rebel intelligence network.."   
  
"Christ Tarleton, do you have any idea.." Andre's eyes widened as he considered the possibilities.   
  
"Yes sir, as a matter of fact I do, which is why I came back here as quickly as possible.. I've got a little early Christmas present for you! You see, they thought I was their contact so I played along with them and I'm pretty sure they bought it. I told them there would be a new operative waiting to meet them here tomorrow night. Their suppose to identify him by the fact that he's wearing a green scarf." Ban did indeed look extremely proud of himself, and with good reason.   
  
"HA! Good show, Tarleton!" Andre clapped him soundly on the back. "That's perfect.. God, what an opportunity.." He stood pondering a moment.   
  
"Yes.. I'll have Bordon wait here tomorrow to meet these men. Thank you, Ban, trust that I'll deal with this." Andre smiled broadly, then realized that Edwards, Riley and Goldstein were still standing there and knew of the entire situation.   
  
"Now then.." Andre stepped toward the three young men and pulled their blindfolds and hand-bindings off, leaving the gags in place. "You three present me with quite the dilema.. I cant have you running off and letting it slip to someone what you've overheard here tonight. I suspect I'll have to keep a very close eye on all of you.."   
  
Andre walked to a nearby cupboard and opened it, removing three small reams of paper before turning and handing them to the young dragoons. Riley looked down at the booklet in his hands. It appeared to be a script..   
  
"Welcome to our little company.. maidservants #1, 2 and 3!"   
  
  
  
  
**To Be Continued...>>**   



End file.
